


The Art of Improvisation

by blue_jean_baby_queen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Attempt at Vacations, Blink and you'll miss it Destiel, Case Dry Spell, Case Fic, Crowley Has an Economic Crisis, Frankenstein - Freeform, Iowa City, M/M, Multi, Pie, Plans are Useless, Road Trip, Sass, Somehow, Spells & Enchantments, Witches, Witches are bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jean_baby_queen/pseuds/blue_jean_baby_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not being able to find any jobs at all, Sam and Dean decide to take an actual road trip and do some sightseeing where they normally hunt after all kinds of scary things. Even tough the plan is a good idea, the brothers just can't relax and when they overhear something in Iowa City that remotely reassembles a possible case, they get hooked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Improvisation

**Author's Note:**

> I actually have about zero patience for a case fic, so this is rather short. However I really wanted to write something with Frankenstein's monster in it and this happened.  
> A friend who beta'd this (thanks and if you found this hi!) told me the ending was too sudden and she's probably right. I tried to fix it, but it's still kinda bad. Anyway...
> 
> Rating for swearing and a teeny tiny bit blood only.
> 
> Disclaimer: My knowledge about Iowa City (about the US, actually) is based on Google Maps and Street View, as well as the disturbing amount of time I spent on research only.  
> Also grammar mistakes and typos guaranteed.

It’s been about one and a half weeks of the same dull routine now: Get up, take a shower, get dressed, have breakfast in the more or less shitty local diner, avoid the authorities, pray to God or Cas, actually pray to anyone who would listen, that they wouldn’t get busted about the credit cards and had to pull a fight or flight again and finally try to find a new case.  
Trying to find something, which seemed even slightly abnormal had turned out to be some piece of work these days.  
It was as if somebody had flicked a switch and creatures, demons and hell even normal human criminals had vanished from earth’s surface. Of course the angels had stuck around to be fucking annoying whatsoever.  
Screw them!  
On the outside, Sam enjoyed the total radio silence and tended to call it the holidays they truly deserved after all the crap they'd been through lately. Secretly, he was as tense as his brother and waited for the other shoe to drop.  
Even a person with way poorer instinct then the Winchester brothers would have recognized the silence before the storm, just the way you can tell a thunderstorm's about to come when the weather is all humid and sticky and the sky looks a certain way. This special something that indicates a change somehow hung in the air above the cheap motel in godknowswhere, Michigan where the two hunters were about to loose it.  
Well, at least one of them.

“There's gotta be something, Sammy.”  
Dean crisscrossed through their room anxiously. He walked from the kitchen counter, if, and that was a huge if, you could call the small cupboard and stove beneath the window a kitchen, towards the bathroom door. There he turned around, stalked towards his bed to sit down on it, only to get nervous again and do a return trip.  
“Like I told you five minutes ago already: There is nothing. Nada. Not even a glimpse of any curious cases.”  
“I call bullshit. There's always something. You hear me, Sam? Always.”  
“If you stopped behaving like some caged up animal, I might even be capable of concentrating on my research here.”  
Sam had observed his brothers strolls for about half an hour now and slowly it really got the better of him. “Go out on a walk, do some grocery shopping or find a bar.”  
“Dude, it’s 11.30 in the morning.”  
“Since when do you care?”  
“You’re right. Actually I don’t, but I know it bothers you. So…”  
Sam sighted. “What I meant to say was: Do something, anything, but for God's sake stop attempting to run a marathon in our room.”  
“I’m not…” Dean started as he pushed himself off the counter.  
“Not about to make your way towards the bathroom, turn to the beds to sit down, only to get up again in approximately uhm… let's say five minutes?” the younger answered dryly.  
The older Winchester stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards his brother with a confused expression on his face.  
“You’ve been doing that for hours and I must say it really starts to annoy me.”  
Without giving any kind of verbal response, Dean turned around, grabbed his jacket from the chair he had carelessly dropped it on earlier, nodded to his brother and vanished through the door.  
Once it had closed behind him he sighed and turned in the general direction of the park. With the motel just at the border of the small town it was a nice little walk towards the main road. The sun warmed the asphalt steadily yet the slightly chilly autumn breeze was just right to get Deans head free.

Back at their room Sam resisted the urge to hit his head on the laptop's keyboard in resignation.  
He knew Dean was right. It was frustrating, even disturbing how little they had had to do in the last weeks. Hell, their last case had been ten days ago and it had been an easy salt ‘n’ burn that had gone so well it left the brothers wondering what they could possibly have missed.  
In the last 45 hours alone, Dean had “fixed” the Impala twice and they'd called Bobby so often that the older hunter threatened to kick their asses if they asked him for a case again.  
What did normal people do on holidays?, Sam considered for a moment.  
Vacations? Well, there was no corner of the United States left they didn't associate with their work and Dean still feared airplanes like they were some kind of predatory monster that they had to slay, but knew nothing about. Not a good plan then.  
Amusement parks? If Sam suggested Disney to Dean, he'd probably walk bowlegged until next Christmas.  
Camping? That reminded him of Wendigos and he instantly dropped the idea again.

Around lunchtime Dean returned, two grocery bags in hands and it was only Sam's good reaction time that prevented him from getting hit by the bottle of soda his brother threw at him.  
“I think they’ve begun remembering me at the grocery store. About time we get going.”  
“Where to though? I mean we got nothing.”  
“Yeah. I thought about that when I walked to the store. I say we just hit the road like in the good ol’ times. We drive and wherever we end up, we stay for a few days. We could pay Bobby an actual casual visit or what about Jody? Haven't seen her in a while.”  
“Where does this relaxed attitude come from, man?”, Sam chuckled. “I was joking when I suggested the bar, you know?”  
“I know. Jesus, how stupid do you think I am? No, wait. Don’t answer that. I just thought: Trouble always finds us, doesn’t it? And now there's something so close to actual peace for once and we sit in some backwater town and go crazy trying to find the trouble?  
I don’t know about you, but to me there's some major error in this mindset.”  
“I like the argumentation and this positive way of thinking. What's the lifestyle magazine called you got this from, huh?”  
“Shut your ugly ass face, Sammy. It's all me. I can think too, you know!”

Sam laughed. Dean’s idea was so simple yet logically, it hadn’t even occurred to him once. But it was true. They’d always been the happiest when they had hit the road together just like that. They didn’t need anything fancy or rare because their everyday routine was so uncommon, if they tried to make their us-time extraordinary too it'd just be hyperbolic.  
He caught himself thinking of it like a favorite food. Tacos maybe. Tacos are great, really great; nevertheless if you were to eat them every single day you'd get sick of the taste eventually. Or you would get a food poisoning and get sick of the taste afterwards. Depends on how stubborn you are. Depends on how much you are like Dean actually because the walking, talking example for stubbornness sat right across the table, looking at him expectant.  
Aloud he said: “You want me to pack my bags now so we're gone before they give us Welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift baskets?”  
“That's a yes to the road trip plan?”  
“Seems so.”  
“Great. My plans are the best, I am the best.”  
“Whatever you say, big brother.”

As usual, it was going to turn out that plans are beyond useless and this plan, as good as it might have seemed in the first place, was destined to go to hell faster then someone on Crowley's hit list.  
Hitherto Sam discovered that packing with a joyful and enthusiastic Dean was so productive they were ready to hit the road within the first fifteen minutes.

Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot and turned the Impala southwards. As they passed the small grocery store of the town Sam swore the cashier had waved them goodbye and only dropped it after the older Winchester lurked to abandon him on the next trucker stop he was going to take a piss at.  
Once they'd grown tired of doing that thing where you look out the window and admire the nature, even though Dean grumbled the only nature he could admire, if he was to avoid a car crash, was the nature of the cracks in the road, Sam drew out his cellphone.  
“What're ya doing?”  
Dean peeked over to his brothers' lap.  
“If that's supposed to be a road trip we have to do some sightseeing, don't you think?”  
“If you're thinking Vegas then yes.”  
“I really hope you're not serious about Vegas right now!”  
“Yes I am, never been this serious before.” His face was blank, however his voice betrayed him. He couldn't quite hide the amusement and Sam having stiffened relaxed again and continued.  
“I was thinking Yellowstone National Park, maybe.”  
“Wyoming?”  
“Yeah. Sure. We’ve been to Wyoming and it's been pretty nasty back then, so clearing the bad memories with some good ones seemed agreeable to me.”  
“We could watch the geysers and compare them to our life metaphorically. They erupt all the sudden, if you're standing to close they'll make a huge mess and then there gone again like it never happened.”  
“Goddamnit, Dean. This right there was the exact opposite of the actual goal I tried to achieve with my suggestion. If you feel this uncomfortable about Wyoming…”  
Dean though interrupted his brother with a laugh attack that lasted a good five minutes. When he finally caught himself again, Sam looked pissed.  
“Should have seen your face, Sammy. Talk about chick flick right there. I really like the idea. I do. But your gonna have to play navigator.”  
Sam thought about hitting his older brother in the face.

The five-hour drive through Indiana and Illinois was so eventless that it was downright boring.  
Apart from a crazy gang of motor bikers and yet another rejected credit card in Plymouth (“This has never happened before, I swear.” Yeah. Right.), they had nothing more to do then drive, sleep, chat away about insignificantly things, read (“Will you ever put the book down? You're such a nerd.”- “At least I have half a brain cell left.” – “Bitch.” – “Jerk.”), and argue about pointless things, like the music Dean had put on.  
An argument Dean shut down very quickly, very rudely with a very well known statement about seating positions in the car.

It continued in this manner right until Iowa City.

They checked into the motel, Travelodge Iowa City because of it's proximity to route 80, round about 7 p.m., intending to find a nice little diner or a bar to end the day on the road in a relaxed manner.  
The clerk, a young woman who looked like she only did the late shift to pay for college, smiled at them as she handed them the key to their room.  
“I should probably warn you,” she said, as they were about to leave the office and head out for dinner, “'cause we’ve been having some issues with a stalker here. At least that's what the people in the neighborhood assume it is.”  
“Well that ain't exactly what you call good advertisement. You trying to scare us away?”  
“Nah. Correct me if I’m wrong but you guys don't exactly look like you scare easily. Just thought you should know if you want to go out tonight or so.”  
“Well thanks, I guess.”  
Dean had already turned around, ready to leave for their room when Sam addressed the woman again.  
“If it's such a problem, why didn't I read about it in any newspapers?”  
“Oh. It's not big enough to interest press or police yet. ‘S just the usual gossip round the block. Old ladies felt observed and some teenagers from Kimball Avenue swore they had seen it peak into windows at nightfall.”  
“It?”  
“He, she, it… I don’t care.”  
“You're not scared or at least bothered by the idea somebody might watch people in their homes?”  
“C'mon Sammy, drop it.”  
“It's alright. Caught your attention, huh?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well to answer your question: It doesn’t bother me because I actually don't believe it. There's no evidence whatsoever. Yet. Well, what I meant to say was: Watch out for the night prowler, gentlemen.”

Arriving at their room, Dean dropped his duffle bag a little to heavy after he'd closed the door just slightly to eagerly. Sam knew what was about to come.  
“Dude, what the fuck was that about?”  
“Don't be such a girl about it, Dean.”  
“Yeah. You're taking that lovely, AC/DC quoting lady into cross examination back there and I'm being a girl about it.”  
Sam sat his bag down onto the bed further from the door and started unpacking his laptop, toothbrush and shampoo bottle.  
“Don't you tell me she didn’t get your attention with the way she constantly called the stalker “it”. She certainly got mine after all.”  
“No. I mean yes. But no… Man, I thought we were trying to take a holiday here.”  
“I never said it's a possible case. It definitely lacks some violence and death to be attractive for us.”  
“Yeah, but I know you Sammy. I know what you think 'bout it.”  
“Do you now?”  
“You think it's strange enough to become violent or deadly soon and you figured we could at least have a look, check out the neighborhoods history and stuff like that. Proof nummero uno: You unpacked that laptop of yours first thing we entered this room and unless you're actually going to do what I would do on the internet for once, what I highly doubt, it only means one thing. Oh. Dibs on the first shower by the way.”  
Sam sighted and threw the shampoo bottle over his shoulder where the older brother snatched it effortlessly.  
“Enjoy it, Sherlock.”

Dean stood in the shower, hot water pouring over him (bless the water pressure in this place) and thought about what they just had come across.  
He knew Sam was right about how this could become a case. Lots of cases they had had in the past had started out as a seemingly harmless myth or rumor among the locals and had developed into something threatening, they had to get rid of as fast as possible in order to save some poor civilians life, to save their own life right along, most of the time. Somehow creepy supernatural beings and unconfirmed rumors with murderous tendencies didn't enjoy the killing creatures part of their family business.  
How odd.  
Yet after the long dry spell the two hunters recently experienced, he found himself torn between welcoming the possible case as a sight of “normality” and mourning about it because it was screwing around with their actual plans again.  
Not that that would be new.  
He smiled a little about the thought. It was a little painful to admit it, nevertheless if he was honest, plans never ever worked out for them. Best example: Sam's infamous time at Stanford. Best example including the supernatural: His own glorious attempt to save his brother by making a deal with a fucking demon and everything that followed out of it.  
Dean quickly shook his head to get rid of the unpleasant memory. He was never going to be able to let it go entirely.

Turning of the shower, toweling off, wrapping the rough motel towel around his waist he left the bathroom to put on some clothes and call Bobby for a water-level report while Sam hopped in the shower.

When they finally left to grab dinner somewhere, it was after 8.30 p.m. and the older Winchester had become so hungry he got all bitchy. Luckily a “Bob's your uncle” diner was in the same building and the food turned out to be quite good.  
It also leads to some bad jokes about how Bobby would never be capable of cooking something simple like spaghetti decently.

“They're supposed to have the best pizza in Iowa City. I mean they've won awards for it. I don’t know 'bout you, but I know what I’m having.”  
“Why, yes. Good for you. I’m still eating a salad; sounds pretty good as well. Oh look at that: Apple Pie, served with vanilla ice cream.”  
“What? Oh yes! Gimme.”

Half way through his pizza Dean eventually addressed the case. Yes, he had wrapped his head around it and decided to accept it as a case, even if it was very blurry and it might as well be just some pervert who enjoyed watching his neighbors undress.  
“What you find out 'bout the local history while I took my shower?”  
“So now you are interested after all!”  
“I might be. Just shut up and tell me.”  
“Can’t do both, Einstein.”  
“Sammy…” Dean warned his brother in his don’t push your luck/don’t test my patience manner.  
“Okay. Only thing that sounded like something we could consider is a myth that evolved around an angel stature on the Oakland Cemetery. That's somewhere down Dodge Street.” He gestured out the window towards town. “Brown Street, if I remember correctly.”  
“And?”  
“It is said that if one touches or kisses the statue they will be struck dead, unless that person is, attention, now it gets really original, a virgin. It is also rumored that if a pregnant woman walks beneath the statue she will miscarry.”  
“Sounds like a poorly written ghost story dedicated to a kids Halloween party.”  
“I know. But it is the best I found.”  
“I think it's just too unclear by now. After all nothing has happened. We just heard about a possible stalker, who is so unpopular that not even the press cares about him. We considered it could develop into something that suits us down to the ground for some admittedly hot clerk calling him or her an It.”  
“You’re right. Sounds pretty sorry if you say it out loud. Downright desperate.”

The waitress came to pick up their now empty plates and Dean ordered his beloved pie while Sam skipped dessert as usual.  
Both of them agreed on staying two days just to see if anything happens (“Are we getting desperate again, Sammy?” - “Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it so much.”) and concluded the day in a tavern down the road.

It was four in the afternoon on their second day in Iowa City, they’d just returned from a nice walk in Hickory Hill Park and nothing had happened so far.  
Yes, Sam had forced his older brother to stroll through a park with him, thank you very much. Not like Dean would ever do something mainstream as going for walks on own behalf.  
Now he sat on his bed and was in the process of cleaning his handgun when someone knocked on the door. Sam went to answer it and found Michelle, the clerk, standing outside.  
Dean hid his gun in a well-trained, smooth motion and the Winchesters already assumed the worst as she said: ”You were interested in that stalker story I told you, right?”  
“Yes… at least a little. Why?”  
“I suggest you turn on the TV. Local News.”  
The older hunter got up, grabbed the remote and switched into KCRG-TV9. On screen a reporter stood in front of one of those common all-American houses while flattering barrier tape, several police cars and an ambulance destroyed the idyll of the sunny September day.  
Sam's jar almost dropped as the newsperson explained how two corpses in terrible conditions had been found in the living room of the house. The backdoor had been forced open and shredded to kindling in the progress.  
One of the officers stated that the couple had most likely died last night.  
They'd seemingly been beat up beyond reason and then beheaded on their own living room floor whilst the lethal weapon as well as the murderer remained dissolved. 

“Looks like you have work to do.” Michelle chimed in.  
“Excuse me?”  
Sam and Dean exchanged confused, slightly frightened looks.  
“Oh. Yes. Sorry. The cleaning lady found one of your badges on the table and got pretty exited. Not all day that you have FBI agents as guests.”  
Sam shot Dean a major bitchface behind her back and Dean begged internally that it had read the same name or they hadn’t paid attention closely enough.  
“Yes. We just received the call from the headquarters anyway. My partner and I were about to change into some more professional clothing and make an appearance at the crime scene.”  
“Right. Of course you already know about it. You’re the authorities. Stupid. I’m not gonna bother you any longer, sirs.”  
With those words she turned and hurried out of the door, but not without giving them a motivating smile. After she'd closed the door the brothers sprung into action, dug their cheap suits out of their bags and grabbed the fake badges.  
By the time they got to the Impala and slammed the doors the younger man couldn't forbear the commentary any longer.  
“You really left the fake FBI badge on the table for every curios cleaner to find? Dude, you have to be more careful. That could have gone a lot worse.”  
“I know, I know. It was an accident. I cleaned out my duffle and forgot 'bout it. I’m just human; sue me for it.”  
The next thing he did was hitting Sam hard in the shoulder to prohibit his joyous laughter.

Dean parked his Baby on the opposite side of the street, they got out, and Sam rearranged his suit jacket, took a deep breath then took the lead towards the house.  
By now curious onlookers crowded the place thus they had to be as subtle as possible to avoid getting in the focus of the cameramen.  
Reaching the barrier tape, the hunters quickly showed their IDs to an officer who looked somewhat relived and waved them inside.  
“About time you gentlemen show up. It's hell out there and we got nothing, not even the tiniest snippet of useful evidence.”  
“Yes. We heard of this problem, so I suggest you give me a fast survey of the entire situation while my partner takes a look around and then we’ll see.”  
Sam nodded towards Dean who turned and disappeared deeper into the house.

The living room looked like somebody had thrown a pig into a shredder and poured its blood all over the nice champagne colored carpet. Both the bodies still were where they'd been found. So were the heads.  
Despite all his professionalism Dean felt like he was gonna be sick. He shook his head and begun his usual procedure by drawing out the EMF Meter walking up and down the room. Sadly it returned no results whatsoever.  
He knew once Sam would be finished with the officer he was going to look for hexbags or cursed objects so Dean turned to the victims now, to their heads to be exact. Great.

He felt Sam's presence behind him way before his brother spoke up.  
“I didn’t find anything. No hexbags, no curses, no voodoo, no hoodoo and I am sure you didn’t have any EMFs either. Could it be that this is just a normal psychotic slaughter of lovely Mr. and Mrs. Parker here?”  
“No.” Dean looked up from where he had knelt before the heads. “You’re gonna wanna take a look at that, Sammy. Whatever is behind this, it's our problem now.”  
Sam went around the table and bowed down to look at the head of the man. The carefully lifted upper lip reveled a pretty impressive set of fangs properly hidden inside the gums.  
“Are you kidding me? What about her?”  
“I really wish I was kidding but here's where it gets interesting: ”, Dean pointed towards the woman’s head, ”She ain’t no vampire.”  
“I think now is the time where we drive back to the motel and call Bobby.”

“This is the stupidest thing you ever called me about!”  
“But that's the status quo, just believe it. Why should I be lying to you 'bout a case?”  
“I could give you a list on why you'd lie 'bout a case, boy. Just let me know if you want it in alphabetical or chronological order. Yet that ain’t the point; I believe you. Thing is: Two are dead, one is a vampire, one is not, the back door's busted off its hinges and turned to sawdust and you wonder if I could ask around if that's a hunters doing?”  
“Well…”  
“No hunter in the entire United States is that stupid. Way to much commotion.”  
“You trying to tell me that there's a monster slaughtering monsters… and the civilians that get into the way.”  
“You actually are capable of thinking. Atta boy.”

Then he hung up.  
Dean threw the phone onto the bed in frustration.  
“What'd he say?”, Sam asked barely withholding his laughter.  
“Complimented me on being capable of thinking.”  
“Good ol’ Bobby.”  
“Shut up and do your research better next time ‘cause something's up here and if it's continuing in this manner we better shut it down soon.”  
“He's surely gonna hit us back when he finds something?”  
“He always does.”

Two more days nothing happened. Questioning the locals was not only exhausting but also futile as fuck.  
Everybody suddenly knew that it had to be the weird stalker, had a story to share and if they didn’t they were freaked out by the crime scene. More then once the Winchesters were greeted at gunpoint and had to hold up their badges as quickly as a shot would've gone off to avoid catching a bullet.  
Sam tried to convince Dean that insulting them as paranoid bastards was the exact opposite of helpful, however he failed miserably.  
The only chance the two saw was to catch the stalker-killer-monster red-handed and if the creature was after creatures, well so were they.  
Two (parties) could play this game.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“You know I despise working with monsters, Sammy.”  
“You keep stressing this point. And yet it's our last resort.”  
Hanging around in the parking lot of Sycamore Mall, Iowa City, pissed Dean off.  
“Why can't we corner that son of a bitch here? Why do we have to hang around like creeps and possibly get arrested because we behave like the fucking stalker this town is searching for?”  
“Because if it doesn't want to talk to us, what is most likely the case, we'd get arrested for harassment and threatening.”  
“Why does a shape shifter work at McDonalds anyway?”

Two and a half hours ago Bobby had called to inform them that if they were to cooperate with a supernatural being he'd suggest a shifter called Andrew Miller. He'd know him from a case he'd worked in Ohio few years ago.  
Helping the older hunter out with a witch back then he had now retired to Iowa and not appeared on any hunters radar ever since. Bobby had stated that he didn’t exactly like him however he trusted him and that was about as much as one could ask for.  
He had given the brothers a picture and a brief description of the guys’ character. The lack of a current address lead to the quality time in front of a McDonalds and to Sam wishing he had a mute button for his brother. His rambling and complaining was a not that literal pain in the ass.  
“You know what would be grandiose? If Cas could swing his holy ass down here when you need him for once. I mean the guy never tells us what he’s doing and when he does it’s so vague that you wonder if he choked on the dictionary when he swallowed it. The way he talks is so overblown. He’s such a showoff and the worst thing about it is that it’s kinda hot somehow.”  
“What?”  
“Oh. Nothing, nothing! Did I say that out loud?”  
“Yes.”  
“Uhm… sorry. Forget ‘bout it.” he mumbled.  
“I actually think we should keep talking about this, Dean. Don’t be ashamed. You can tell me your erotic fantasies about the celestial being going by the name Castiel and the way it’s hot when he shows off. Did you ever…”  
“Shut your face! There. He’s leaving.”  
The one coming to Deans rescue was Andrew. He left the fast food branch and made a beeline for a rusty old Mercedes in the parking lot. They followed him until 6th Avenue where he pulled into the front yard of a small house.

“So, we're gonna knock on the door or we're gonna knock it down?”  
“This man worked with Bobby once, Dean. We're not going to wreck his front door. Besides he's given us no reason and we're here to ask for his help.”  
“Whatever you say, Sasquatch.” Dean opened the door, got out and let his gaze run over the houses nearby while he hid his gun in the back of his waistband under the jacket.  
Sam acknowledged and grabbed Ruby’s knife to hide it up his sleeve just to be sure.

Andrew was a petit man (at least at the moment. He’s a shape shifter. Remember that? Good.). Dean towered above him with almost 1 foot and 3 inches plus. That didn’t stop him from having an impervious attitude that made Crowley look like a nice to get along with guy when he opened the door for the brothers.  
“Before you say anything: Yes, Bobby Singer called me. No, he doesn’t know where I life so you waiting out there wasn't a wild goose chase to buy me some time or something like that. Yes, we can talk. Yes, I know that you are Sam and Dean Winchester and yes, you should leave your weapons on the sideboard next to the door.”  
Then he turned around and vanished through a door at the end of the corridor. The Winchesters exchanged a surprised glance. If that wasn't one way to get blindsided…  
Nevertheless Sam shrugged and dropped the knife next to the rucksack on his left. Dean followed his example after short hesitation. 

“If Bobby called you, you know what we're here for Mr. Miller.”  
“I do, Sammy. Over here.” Andrew stood by his stove, next to his coffee machine and pointed them towards the kitchen table. Dean’s murderous expression when he called the younger brother by his nickname remained uncommented. “You want some coffee?”  
“No thank you, not for me. Dean?”  
“No.”  
“Is it really a monster that kills creatures?”  
“That's what we're trying to verify, sir.”  
In silent agreement Sam had resumed the conversation. It probably was better this way.  
“And you need me because?”  
“Well. Ehrm. I know it's much to ask, but we can only find the creature if we have a creature, no offense, to allure it.”  
“Yeah. That part I get. I was just wondering, if you hunt creatures and there's a creature that hunts creatures, why would you want to hunt the creature that does your job for you?”  
“It killed a woman and she was perfectly human.” Dean chimed.  
“Well it killed a lot of supernatural beings before it killed that woman, son.”  
“Wait. Are you telling me that all the creatures were keeping a low profile ‘cause they were afraid that they were next?” Sam asked in sudden realization.  
“You really are as clever as they say.” He didn’t say it in a sarcastic way, he actually meant it. “Contrariwise to you hunters it also kills innocent, peaceful ones and that's why you can count me in.”

The shifter and the hunters met again in the evening. They planned that Andrew was going to go out to a bar and on the way home he was supposed to behave in exact contrast to his usual nondescript manner.  
If the unknown creature should show up, and they hoped it did, the Winchesters would be ready to take it down and kill it stone dead.  
Andrew left the bar round about 11.30 p.m., waving his drinking buddies goodbye and obviously changing his hair color when he closed the door. The now red headed man shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked off into the darkness, the Winchesters following in a safe distance seemingly chattering away about a job they didn't have and a boss who didn't actually bother them.  
On his way Andrew shifted from time to time. Height, hair color, even facial bone structure.  
It went on like that until they reached Clinton Street. A large group of young adults heading to some party approached them and with horror Sam and Dean grasped they had lost Andrew in the crowd.  
“Fuck. If he has changed now, we’ve lost him for good.” Dean spat out angrily while he spun around to relocate their decoy.  
Slowly the alcohol induced laughter and chattering of the horde faded in the distance, and the two Winchesters found themselves staring upon an abandoned sidewalk.  
“Son of a bitch.”  
Dean decided to do the only reasonable thing by running for the next corner, drawing his weapon and beckoning Sam to follow him. They’d most likely searched for the rest of the night, however as they sprinted past an especially dark front yard of some public building Sam suddenly stopped his brother by grabbing him at the elbow.  
“What’s up? Why… we gotta find him quick! We don’t and he’s dead in no time just as our only chance of finding whatever plays butcher ‘round here.”  
“Shh. Quite!”  
Silence.  
“Did you hear that?”  
“No, what?”  
Then there it was again. From underneath the trees, somewhere in the back of the yard, where almost no light from the streetlights got to came a little sound; a muffled scream, maybe the suppressed sound of a fight.  
The Younger drew out his knife now, carefully moving into the shade while Dean followed gun raised, ready to shoot who or whatever they were to encounter.

Past some steps in there eyes had adapted to the darkness and they could make out a few outlines again. Dean shivered and Sam felt it to: They weren’t alone here; someone was hiding in the shadows, staring at them. Unfortunately neither him nor his brother was able to pinpoint it yet. A sudden move, approximately 26 feet to their left, made them startle. Now that the hunters knew where to look they finally recognized the profile of a man.  
A thing? A thing!, Dean thought, It’s all a thing until proven human.

Sam in the meantime reached for the flashlight in his right pocket, but before he even came close to turning it on the thing in the corner moved.  
It spun around, hurled a second way smaller person, which had been held in chokehold and hidden by the giant body, to the left where it hit the brick wall and slide down to the ground, lifelessly.  
That’s when Dean took the first shot. Despite the darkness he aimed perfectly and hit the thing in the shoulder, just to find that it didn’t even feel the slightest bit bothered by the fact that it just been hit with a silver and iron bullet filled with rock salt. It just turned its head to see who dared to disturb it and then continued business as usual.  
That’s at least what Dean later assumed it was because the entire process seemed so well studied, it had to be a standard procedure.  
Business as usual meant it took a step towards the lifeless body on the ground, yanked a silver blade from wherever that twinkled in the sudden brightness of the flashlight Sam finally switched on. Now that the cone of light illuminated the ally at least a bit, Dean was very sure “monster” and “it” were the political correct terms to use. To say it looked somewhat disfigured was an understatement, but right now there was something more important in progress.  
It raised the blade, the Winchesters made their move, to late.  
It already pierced Andrew’s chest when Sam got close enough to stab Ruby’s knife into the things back and cut it deep.  
As a last desperate move Dean shot again, even though it turned out just as pointless as the last time. The only thing different was that now the thing paid them attention.  
Grabbing Sam’s upper arm, it threw him across the place towards Dean. The latter barely managed to duck out of the way, and then he attacked the thing anew.  
The gun and knife now useless on the ground he made the reckless decision to try hand-to-hand combat. The only result that jumping it in an attempt to pull it to the ground gave was a hit square across his face that send him seeing stars.  
In the background Sam picked himself up again, grabbed the neglected weapons then joined his brother in his losing fight.  
As the thing flung Dean into the nearest park bench and Sam not quite managed to ditch a blow to the abdomen, they realized if they would go on like this there was no way they’d leave this place alive and even if they still were breathing when the police arrived due to the commotion they’d probably wish they were dead.

With one nod the Winchesters agreed on the shameful yet inevitable retreat. They ran and Sam only stopped shortly to pick up the flashlight. It was risky but they couldn’t afford to leave any kind of evidence that would give away their presence at the crime scene.

Fifteen minutes later the brothers lastly stopped running. To bad out of breath to talk they just stared at each other. Both of their faces displayed utter shock and when they pulled into the motels parking lot half an hour later they still hadn’t said a word.

The silence lasted until Dean stepped out of the shower and flopped down on the more or less cozy bed beside his brother.  
“So.”  
“Yes, Dean?”  
“What the hell was that back there? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Looked like Frankenstein’s monster-zombie-demon if you ask me.”  
“That’s a pretty accurate description of something I thought I’d never be able to describe.”  
Dean sighted heavily, rolled over and groaned. He already felt the bruises that he was gonna have in the morning. Whenever morning was going to be.  
“Hey, Dean. You’re bleeding on my bed.”  
“Huh?”  
“You got a nasty cut on your shoulder, genius.”  
So that’s what the throbbing in his shoulder was about. At least it was fixable. Sam got up, went to his duffle bag and returned to the bed with a first aid kit in hand.  
“Sit up and let me stich you up.”  
Dean obeyed without protesting for once. He was just too tired to pick a fight now.

“Whatever it was, it didn’t do it with intend.”  
“Come again? It felt pretty intentional when it threw me across the yard!”  
“It wasn't. Not exactly.”  
Sam finished his brothers stiches, went to fetch something from his jacket, leaving a beyond puzzled Dean sitting on the bed.  
“Hit you rather hard, didn't it?”  
“No, wait.” Sam dug in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small object, careful to only touch the chain.  
Then he threw it across the room, Dean subdued his primary instinct to catch it. Instead he flinched and let the hexbag hit the mattress.  
“I accidentally ripped it off when I tried to choke-hold our Adam of the labors back there.”  
“You think there’s some witch behind it.”  
“By now I’m sure it’s some witch utilizing the creature to kill other supernatural beings as it is a binding spell.”  
“And how exactly do we find that bitch?”  
“Well that’s where it gets complicated. I called Bobby while you were in the shower and asked if there was a way, any way, to trace a hexbags origin. He didn’t know of any, however he said he’s gonna consult his books and call back in the morning.”  
“Which is in ‘bout five hours. Great.”  
“If you’re trying to communicate that you could use some sleep, I agree.”  
“Yeah. That’s it.”  
“What did he say ‘bout us getting Andrew killed?” Dean asked cautiously.  
“He said and I’m quoting: That’s why you can’t have nice things, boys.”  
“Oh. Oh well.”

For a moment there was silence. Then…

“Dean?”  
The answer was a groan, stifled by the pillow.  
“You’re in my bed.”  
“So? I ain’t moving anymore today and mine ain’t toxic. Use that one.”  
Sam’s eye roll was almost audible.

After five and a half hours Sam woke up due to his phone ringing obscenely loud in the otherwise quite room.  
“I’ve got some good, some bad and some ugly news for you. Which one would you like to hear first?”, Bobby told him.  
“In that order. I’ll put you on speaker.”  
Dean shuffled around in “his” bed as Sam walked over and sat down at the edge, the cell phone in hand.  
“Alright. There’s a way to trace the person responsible for a specific hexbag.”  
“But?”  
“It’s not a spell or a ritual.”  
“What’s it then? I’m in for almost anything, I want that bitch's ass kicked.” Dean had sat up; blue and yellow bruises on his arms as a nice contrast to his black t-shirt. Not that Sam looked any better, not at all.  
“Well it’s a ritual…”  
“You just said it ain't no ritual. You gotta get a little more intelligible, Bobby.”  
“If you’d let me finish I’d have told you by now, Idjit. It’s not a spell a human can perform.”  
“I’ll take that as the bad part?”  
“Yeah. And here’s the ugly one: It has to be conducted by a demon.”  
Here came the silence, which Sam and Dean were somehow used to by now, again.  
“Sam? Dean?”  
“Son of a bitch!”  
“Oh. Good. You didn’t simultaneously die of a heart attack.”  
“Are you kidding?”  
“I wish I was.”  
“Ok. Thanks for the help anyway, I guess.”  
“Yeah. I do my very best. Be careful.”

Sam hung up and when Dean’s rant was over they agreed to have breakfast first before any demons were to be summoned.  
Unsurprisingly the murder of Clinton Street was all over the newspapers; anyhow there wasn’t even the slightest hint that someone had seen the brothers or the police had found anything that confirmed their appearance there.  
This relieved Sam visibly.

About noon Dean steered the Impala onto a lonely country lane. He stopped behind a tiny formation of trees, disabled the engine, got out and slammed the door shut.  
“I feel fucking vulnerable doing this in brought daylight.”  
“Yeah, so do I. Let’s get over with it!”  
Agreeing that a devilstrap wouldn’t be any use at all, Dean set up the bowl, while Sam painted the symbols on the ground and put the candles in place.  
When they were done they hesitated.  
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”  
“No, but it’s our only one.”  
Dean took a deep breath, light the match, dropped it into the basin and watched the smoke and sparks shoot towards the sky.

“Boys! Long time no see.”  
Startled the Winchesters spun around. Crowley had appeared a few steps behind them, arms crossed and a self-assured grin on his face, which Sam ascribed to the lack of ambush or devilstrap.  
“Heya, Crowley.”, the older hunter mumbled with a very noticeable lack of enthusiasm.  
“What's with the scowling mien, squirrel? You summoned me, you should be delighted to see me for I am very busy.”  
“Hardly.”  
Crowley squinted at that, but showed no further reaction whatsoever.  
“How has it been going for you lately?”  
“We didn’t summon you to chitchat. We need…”  
Dean stopped there, apparently not able to bring the word out. Sam took over.  
“We need a favor.”  
“And you thought of me? Where are your brains at?”  
“It’s not exactly a favor. You get something out of it as well.”  
“So you want a deal? I thought you would know better by now.”  
“You’re not getting a kiss, that’s for sure.” Dean had chimed in angrily.  
“Then how were you planning to catch my interest?”  
Sam actually had wanted to avoid bringing up this topic; he thought it might anger the king of hell unnecessary. Now he realized it might be their only chance to stop him from leaving and having them slink of with their tails between their legs.  
“Business hasn’t gone so good lately, has it?”  
“You’d love to know, wouldn’t you?”  
“Just answer the question. I’m pretty sure I know the answer already anyway.”  
“There have been better times, alright?”  
“And it’s this way because your demons are afraid to go out. They are afraid something will slaughter them. So you forced them to go and they never returned. Am I right?”  
“What do you want?”  
Dean, who had pocketed the chain with the hexbag back at the motel, pulled it out.  
“We need you to locate the person responsible for the spell here.”  
“Are you going to say please?”  
“No.”  
“What did I expect?”  
“I don’t know, but that means you can?”  
“Yes, moose. It’s limited to a hundred mile radius though.”  
“That’s hopefully gonna be enough.”  
“Do you have a map?”

Sam went to fetch a map of Iowa City and surroundings from the Impala, thinking he'd return to his brother and Crowley. However when he shut the door on the passenger's side again, Crowley popped up next to him, making a really annoyed Dean jog over to them.  
He handed Crowley the map, which unfolded it and placed it on the ground besides the car.  
“I’m going to need the bag now.” Dean shot him a suspicious glance, but handed it over.  
“Oh, don’t be so wary. I might be a demon, regardless I’m not pure evil and I have no reason to betray you on that one.”  
Then he crouched down, opened the cloth and placed the ingredients on the map.  
“There’s one thing left. One of you will have to bleed.”  
“Sorry?”, Dean asked irritated.  
“It requires human blood. Calm down, only two to three drops. I’m not asking you to slit your throat.”  
Sam shrugged and took a switchblade knife from his pocket, yet before he could even raise it Dean snatched it away from him.  
“I’m gonna do it.”  
Before the younger brother was able to express his protest, he’d cut across the back of his forearm, tilted it over the map and let his blood drip down on it. Then Dean stashed the knife back into Sam’s pocket.  
“If you like your hair and eyebrows where they are I’d advise you to step back.” The Winchesters followed Crowley's lead and took a step back at once. Then the demon snapped his fingers and the edges of the map caught fire.  
It slowly burned until only a small piece of paper was left. The second Dean was about to comment on the missing oomph the flames turned black, spread across the ground rapidly and the vanished into the sky with a fizzling.  
Sam took a step forward and picked up the leftovers of the map. It was a section of Teg Drive, a road next to Willow Creek Park.  
“We should keep in touch, boys. Give me a call when this is over, will you?”  
“Most certainly not.” grumbled Dean, while peaking over his brother’s shoulder to find out what they now knew.  
“Always so grateful. Good luck anyway.”  
Then the king of hell disappeared into thin air.

“Well, according to the piece of paper here it could be either of ‘em”  
The hunters sat in the Impala and stared at the two houses on the other side of the street. Crowley’s little card trick had been good, precise even, at least until now. Why in God’s name would someone decide to build two houses so close together that they might as well share an address.  
This was America, meaning there was plenty of space to build two buildings apart from each other so that demon magic would be actually useful.  
Even though Sam had stated that they were beyond lucky the witch that created the hexbag even was in Iowa, Dean thought this situation right here was really pushing it.  
“So what do we do? Flip a coin?”  
At first Sam wanted to give him his trademark bitchface No. 4; meaning: I know you think you’re being funny, but please quit it, then he stopped and reconsidered.  
“Might as well flip a coin.”, he shrugged and dug into his suit pocket for a quarter.

The coin demanded the left house; Sam and Dean took the FBI badges from the glove box to pull an entire FBI act, just in case.  
A small sign near the bell said “Out of order” so Dean reached for the knocker and a young black haired woman opened up.

“Good afternoon, Ashley Montgomery? FBI. Agent Smith and Smith, no relation. We’d like to ask you some questions on the two murders that have occurred in the last days.” Sam rattled off.  
“No need to worry, those are standard questions and you’re not in any trouble.” Dean added. The so far went unsaid.  
“Sure,” she replied, “Come in. Would you like a drink?”  
“No, thank you.”  
She lead them into a cozy living room, a furnace in the corner, a beige couch with a lot of pillows next to it and a carpet so fluffy it had to be a bitch to clean, Dean thought.  
“Please, take a seat.” 

Half way through the questioning Dean asked for the way to the toilet to sneak around and look for some fool proof evidence that Sam really was distracting the witch back by the furnace. He began in the bedroom, searched under the bed and in the closet (red satin panties, nice) and found nothing.  
Knowing that he had to hurry up so his brother didn’t run out of questions before he found something or returned with empty hands, he opened the next door.  
It looked like a normal office, at least on the first sight. However when he took a step inside he soon spotted the first weird old books and papers with runes on them.  
Bingo.  
Not wasting any more time Dean opened the first drawer on the desk, removed a harmless enough looking folder from a jalopy and popped the lid open.  
“Next seasons collection of hexbag charm necklaces, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

Having found more then enough indication that the coin had done a good job, he went back downstairs, just in time. When he came into earshot of the living room Sam just asked the last question.  
“Have you noticed anything abnormal? Anything you wouldn’t dare to speak about in public because people might think you’re crazy?”  
“Not exactly, no.” She sounded puzzled.  
From the door frame Dean gave Sam the little nod that said positive, then he reached for his gun.  
“I’ve got one last question then, Miss Montgomery” Sam said, “Why did you summon a monster and force it to kill all over the country?”  
The click of Dean’s gun echoed in the deadly silent room.

“Don’t shoot, please. Let me explain it.”  
“Since you just wasted a good chance to deny it, feel free.” Sam said dryly and Dean added: “You’ve got thirty seconds before I pull that trigger. Make ‘em count.”  
“Look, when I was younger my mom and dad got killed by a vampire and…”  
“Ever since you’ve wanted revenge, planned to find the beast that killed your parents and slaughter it. Maybe you even wanted to go further, right? Hunt down all the supernatural you can find. Am I right?” Dean interrupted a little to loud and Sam shifted uncomfortable on the couch.  
“I…” she stuttered, “I… ehm…”  
“We know the origin story, love. We lived it, but with one humongous, essential difference: We never killed an innocent person!”  
“I was trying to help, when I picked up that spell book I only had the best intends.”  
“You became something supernatural to fight the supernatural?” Sam chimed in.  
“I’m not a superna…”  
“Not a supernatural thing? You picked up a book, performed a summoning spell and made a fuck-ton of hexbags to control the thing you summoned. In my book that makes you a witch, which, in fact, is a paranormal being, don’t you agree? ”  
“I’m not a witch.”, she said meekly. Dean’s outburst had been impressive.  
“What do you think it made you? The fucking messiah?”  
“Well no…” she answered, then stopped as something began to dawn on her, ”wait! The summoning spell I get, but how do you know of the hexbags?”  
“Besides the chest in your office, Sammy here, ripped on off the thing when it attacked us.”  
“You ripped it off?” Her voice was shrill in sudden panic.  
“We also kinda burned it to find you.” Sam offered.  
“Okay. I changed my mind: Shoot me.”  
“Sorry?”  
“Remove the hexbag, remove the curse and what I summoned there is literally Frankenstein’s monster.”  
“Told ya it was Frankenstein’s monster, Sammy.” Dean grinned.  
“Dean, that’s bad. Very bad.”  
Sam had gotten up and moved over to where his brother stood, eying the hallway and the front door suspiciously.  
“What? Why?”  
“In the novel once the creature realizes its rejection by society it swears to get revenge on his creator Victor Frankenstein and if the binding spell has been broken now it might come after Ashley because she used it to kill and that’s something that, at least according to the novel, isn’t in the creatures nature.”  
“It’s also way cleverer than any cinematic incarnation suggests.” Ashley added, “ That means it could easy enough have followed you here, which means I’m sticking with my earlier request: Shoot me. You’d be doing me a favor.”  
“Not gonna happen. This is your mess, you clean it up.”, Dean stated dryly.

Ashley just was about to reply something, when the front door got knocked down with enormous racket. Instinctive Sam hurled his brother out of the way. They hit the floor next to the table and it hadn’t been a second to early. The thing had stormed into the room, basically tearing down the hallway on its way.  
The living room door was ripped from its hinges and splinter of wood, metal fragments from the frame and plaster flew across the place. Ashley screamed and ducked behind the couch, Sam and Dean rolled further under the piece of furniture and Dean pulled his brother closer to protect him from the flying pieces.  
Later Sam would make fun of Dean for thinking it would be useful to pull him to his chest like that for he wasn’t smaller any more, but at the moment it was the only thing the older Winchester could think of.  
When Dean risked looking up again the thing had raised the door above its head menacingly and Ashley whimpered in the corner. He pushed himself up.  
Actually he didn’t have much sympathy for the witch; anyhow she was the only chance to get rid of Frankenstein’s monster for good. According to Sam it wasn’t evil but it surely was outraged and having it stroll around wasn’t an option the hunters could live with. Annoyingly killing it wasn’t an option either. If it was possible, they hadn’t found out about the how yet and there certainly was no time for research.  
Reversing the spell was the only reasonable solution at this point and they needed Ashley alive and able to talk for that.  
Dean moved forward and kicked at the monster from behind, aiming for the hollow of the knee, begging that it was a weak spot of this thing as well.  
It was and the creature went to its knees with a growl.

By now Sam had gotten to his feet as well and while the thing scrambled up again and turned to face its attacker, he ran over to Ashley.  
“Undo it. Reverse the spell. Send it back where it came from, it’s our only chance.”  
“I don’t know how.” she shrieked and put her hands above her head.  
Just at that moment Dean failed to sidestep the monsters third attempt to grab him and it got him at the front of his shirt.  
“Hey buddy” he managed to generate, “remember me? You threw me into a park bench.”  
Then he got thrown into the back of the couch, that keeled over and he hit the floor again.

“Dean?”  
Sam had raised his gun now and opened fire. It wasn’t effective. Not the lightest bit, but it distracted the giant figure in the middle of the room long enough so that Dean had an actual chance to brace himself again.  
“I’m fine, just hurry up.” he replied and jumped at the creature all over again.  
Sam turned to Ashley and fixed her with a deadly glare.  
“You heard him!”  
“What am I supposed to do?”  
Sam was trying to shoot at the thing again, but Dean always seemed to be in the way. He couldn’t get a clear shot and unwilling to shoot his brother by accident he lowered the weapon.  
“You said you had the spell from a book?”  
“Yes.”  
“Well go get it then.”  
She nodded, got up shaking and ran for the staircase to fetch the book in question probably from the office Dean had found the box of hexbags in earlier.

“A little help here, Sammy?”  
Dean had just hit the floor all over again and now failed to shuffle away from the things long arms and grabby hands.  
“Sasquatch versus Sasquatch? How ‘bout that?”  
“Shut up.” Sam spat out and grabbed Dean’s aggressor around the neck to pull it of him only to get hit squarely in the face by its elbow.  
“You sure realize we can’t beat it, right?” Dean huffed as he seized the things upper arm and tried to bed it behind its back.  
“Just hold on a little longer!”  
Only a few blows later Ashley returned hastily, a huge book in hands frantically skimming through it.  
“Sam!”, she yelled over the commotion of the fight, “there is no reversal of the spell!”  
“Improvise then! Try saying it backwards. Works with exorcisms.”  
Then the creature roared, grabbed the younger brother around the neck and began to choke him.  
“Sam!” Deans yelled frightened.  
The next thing he remembered was a bright light and a pressure wave, then the sound of Sam hitting the floor hard.  
The light faded, the Winchesters stared at the place Frankenstein’s monster had been just a second ago.  
“Improvising is an art.” Sam commented and rubbed his neck.  
“It really looked exactly like the thing from the novel. The translucent yellowish skin, the black lips and the eyes…”  
“Shut up, Nerd.”  
They sat there for some moments, then the absolute silence got perfidious and Dean suddenly cursed, jumped to his feet and ran towards the hallway.  
“That bitch got away!” he yelled angrily and was about to follow her through the missing front door, when Sam noticed a way to familiar sound in the distance.  
“Dean, some neighbors called the police. Can’t afford getting spotted.”  
“Shit!”  
The older one turned to the back door, helped his brother to his feet and then they did what they did best: They ran.

Approximately half an hour after the brothers had crept back into their motel room, having been lucky enough to avoid people and possible questions concerning their current condition, a knock on the door made Dean peek out of the bathroom.  
“Who the fuck is that now?”  
“How should I know?”, Sam responded, muffled by the pillow he was pressing his face into right now.  
“Because you got up and answered the door, maybe?”  
“But ‘m in bed already.”  
“And I’m naked. Not that I mind but the person out there might consider it inappropriate, so get up and answer the door, bitch.” With that he closed the door again.  
“Jerk.”, the younger brother returned. Then he rolled out of bed and shuffled over to open the door, to be faced with a very beat up Ashley who didn’t manage to keep a straight face at all.  
“Are you guys always like that?”  
Instead of an immediate response Sam seized her by the shoulder, pushed her into the room and looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one was there, before he closed the door.  
Dean meanwhile had reopened the bathroom door a slit. “Is that…? Oh no. Come on! Sammy, get me some clothes and you better sit your ass down. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

For once Sam didn’t argue with Dean’s direct order. The though of Dean stalking out of the bath stark naked made him uncomfortable to say the least. While he took a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of a duffle bag and went to haul them into the bathroom he said: ”First thing is how you found us? Care to share with the class?”  
“I casted one last spell, because I thought twice and figured I owe you an apology and an explanation; so here it is: I’m sorry for what I did, for how narrow-minded I was and I’m sorry for the situation it all caused. After that I burned the book, so there’s no going back, ever.”  
“You’ve some common sense after all. I’m impressed.” Dean had redressed and stood in the doorframe, watching the woman suspiciously.  
“Dean.”, Sam warned.  
“Oh, don’t give me that stop-it’s-rude look. Lovely Ashley here‘s the reason Frankenstein’s monster almost butchered us, twice. Not to mention the lady and the shape shifter friend of Bobby who died.”  
“That’s exactly why I’m here and not boarding a plane to Europe already.”, Ashley stated.  
“Europe?”  
“I’ve got relatives there.”  
“Ah.”  
“Sam!”  
“Sorry.”, Sam shrugged, ”My brother’s right though. Two verifiable innocent people died, one of them a human woman.”  
“She backed a killer vampire and you know it. You researched the victims backgrounds.”  
“Did you, Sammy?”  
“Yeah, while we drove out to meet up with Crowley. She’s right.”, he granted.  
“That’s not an excuse.”, Dean said briefly.  
“Dean, not that I’m not having your back, but we did more for less and didn’t even bother to apologize.”, Sam said carefully.  
The other Winchester sat down on one of the beds and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Then he waved his hand vaguely towards the place where Ashley still stood.  
“Go and take your plane to Europe, before I change my mind.”  
“I… wow. Thank you, I guess.”, she stuttered and hurried out the door, before Dean could change his mind and reach for a weapon. Sam gave her a little wave. Then he turned around, facing the challenge to get his brother to move.

In the wee hours of the next morning they returned to pick up the Impala and hit the road again. After a heated debate on what to do next (“Dude, we had to leave Baby behind and then I tell that bitch to go, because of lack of sleep and all you do is wave her goodbye? You are the worst hunting partner ever.” – “I think she learned her lesson, Dean. And don’t insult my skills on the basis of one act of kindness.”), in which they agreed, disagreed and agreed to disagree, the brothers decided to continue with their original plan and go to Wyoming to marvel at the wonders of mother earth.  
However in the first pee break at a gas station Bobby called Sam to tell them about a multitude of signs for demonic activity in Arkansas.  
Sam beckoned his brother to hurry up with the snacks as he waited by the Impala.  
“Was that Bobby?”  
“Yeah, apparently Crowley has overcome his economic crisis.”  
“If Crowley’s back in business, so are we.”  
Dean grinned, opened the driver’s door, dropped the grocery bag (“Pie isn’t staple food, so stop calling it grocery shopping.”) on the backseat and turned the keys.  
The engine came to life and Sam hurried to get in the shotgun seat.  
Plans just weren’t their thing. Plans were for people with a white picket fence and a perfectly groom lawn in the front yard, not for travelers on the highway. Especially not for the ones who knew that the sky in fact wasn’t the limit.  
It was exactly how Sam had put it about twenty hours ago: Improvising was an art. It was theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> The song the clerk refers to is AC/DC's "Night Prowler".  
> The myth about the angel stature on the cemetery actually exists (that's at least what wikipedia told me) and I am NOT sponsored by any of the motels, malls or diners mentioned in this fic. The menu in the dinner scene is up to date though.
> 
> Also the lack of explaining around the monster is due to my utter laziness. My apologies.


End file.
